Nuntius
by ChemiToo
Summary: The nations receive troubling news. Sequel to "Exordium."


_Notes: Sequel to "Exordium"_

* * *

America frowns as he tosses what's left of the teacup into the garbage bin, trying not to panic. He had come to England's place after he hadn't picked up the phone in, like, two hours. Normally it wouldn't have bothered him, but today was different. England was not present at a very important meeting, not to mention Norway and Romania. But England never missed a meeting. Ever.

He sighs as he returns to his perch on the armrest of England's couch. The older nation is still out cold, breathing shallowly in his sleep as America worriedly looks on. He hadn't even bothered to take his shoes off, and based on the state of the kitchen, something bad had happened.

"England, come on," he coaches as he nudges his former caretaker urgently. England murmurs something, but doesn't stir, "Come ON, dude, you're freaking me out!" America adds, blinking at the hint of hysteria in his tone.

He needed to get it together-he was the United States of America, after all, not some wimp. He was not going to fall to pieces over anything, especially over something as trivial as England taking a nap when the world was falling to pieces around them.

The world was on the verge of nuclear war, now, with just about every major nation's leaders clamoring to come out on top. America had never popped as much Pepto-Bismol in his life as he had in the past two weeks as false threat after false threat sent him flying all over the world to try and keep the floodgates from opening, to keep the plutonium securely on the ground instead of being loaded into rockets. Everyone was on edge, and it was steadily becoming unbearable.

"Come on, man, we gotta go to this meeting," America says half-heartedly as terror grips him. What if something's wrong with him _because_ of the nukes?

"Oh my God," he blurts as he whips his cell phone from his jacket pocket and hurriedly dials Canada. It only rings once before the other nation picks up, softly saying hello.

"MATT," he blurts into the receiver, "D-did anything drop yet?!"

"No, not that I know of," Canada answers quietly as America audibly sighs with relief, "Are you all right?" his twin asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I think so," America responds as he runs a quivering hand through his hair, "I...I'm still at England's-he's passed out. I'm not sure what's wrong with him,"

"What?" Canada blurts, "Is he sick?"

"Uh...maybe?" America says stupidly. He can almost see his brother rolling his eyes as he sighs over the phone.

"Have you checked his temperature?" Canada coaches.

"His what now?" America asks.

"Put your hand on his forehead," Canada instructs after sighing softly in agitation, "And see if he feels too warm,"

"What the hell is 'too warm,' though?" America demands as he awkwardly holds his hand inches above England's face, "He's supposed to be warm, right? He's not DEAD, Matt," he snaps, suddenly filled with dread. He wasn't dead, damn it-his chest was moving. Sorta. Right?

Oh God.

"You'll know if he's too warm, just do it," Canada says patiently as America presses his palm into England's forehead, smoothing back his unkempt bangs. His hair is surprisingly soft, actually-

"Stop it," he growls at himself.

"What?" Canada asks.

"Nothing," America blurts as his cheeks burn, "I-I think he's fine," he decides as he reluctantly takes his hand away, "So I don't think he's sick,"

"Hmm," Canada hums thoughtfully, "Maybe he-oh hold on, Norway's here with Romania," he says suddenly, clapping his hand over the receiver as America impatiently waits. He frowns as all he can pick up from the other line are muffled voices. He can't identify any of them.

"HELLO?" America demands angrily as a tiny whimpering noise catches his attention.

"England!" he cries happily as the other nation's green, green eyes crack open. He blinks a few times, looking blearily up at America with lips silently parted around the word "what?"

"You okay, man?" America asks worriedly, stashing the phone into the pocket of his bomber jacket and awkwardly helping England sit up. The older nation groans, sinking weakly into America's arms and settling into the couch cushion. He rubs his eyes, muttering incoherently as America looks on worriedly.

"You took one hell of a nap, there," America jokes, or tries to, around the lump in his throat, "You kinda freaked me out," he admits with a half-hearted laugh. England blinks at him tiredly, prominent brows furrowed in confusion.

"I did?" England mutters, "What do you-?"

America joins England in jumping as a loud noise catches their attention. A knock at the door, firm and steady.

 _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

America looks at England, who shakes his head. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting company.

"Stay here," America instructs.

"Bugger off," England snaps as he attempts to get to his feet.

"I said stay here, England, I got this," America insists, pushing him back down onto the couch. England curses at him under his breath, clutching onto the armrest and puling himself into a barely-standing position.

"England, I-"

 _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

"Get the door, America," England instructs shakily, "I'll be right behind you,"

America hesitates only briefly before doing as instructed. He cautiously approaches, slowly turning the doorknob in trepidation. He waits until he feels England's presence over his shoulder before pulling the oaken green door open with a loud creak.

He gulps as England's trembling fingers clutch onto his arm.

A woman is standing on England's doorstep, skin pale and hair of white, with the slightest hint of ice-blue. Her eyes are sharp and piercing above the stark white collar of her long jacket. America shivers involuntarily as those eyes lock onto him, studying him. Something was terrifying about her, for whatever reason, making his already upset stomach jolt unpleasantly.

"W-who-?" America manages before his voice abruptly leaves him. She nods slowly, reaching her hand out. America frowns, reluctantly extending his hand to meet hers. She pulls it away, shaking her head.

"Huh?" he blurts in confusion.

The stranger shakes her head again, putting out her hand toward England.

"Whoa, hold on," America demands as he regains the ability to speak, "Who _are_ you?" he manages as he turns toward England. His hands are still pressed into America's arm for support, staring at her outstretched hand as a mouse would a python.

"Hey, England, I can handle this if you want to-what are you doing?!" he blurts as England suddenly takes her hand and gasps, eyes widening in shock.

"Whoa, whoa, what-HEY!" America cries as England swoons, bumping against him as his hand slips out of that of the stranger. America scrambles to support him before he falls, clutching him around the middle and holding him awkwardly to his chest.

"England, talk to me," America blurts in a panic as he steals a look up at the strange woman. She is smiling, blue-tinged lips quirking up ever so slightly, "Who the hell are you? What did you do to him?!" he demands as she tilts her head at him, hair bobbing awkwardly around her in blue-hued waves.

"His magic is strong," she says suddenly, causing America to jump. Her voice sounded...weird. Like she was speaking from underwater or something, garbled.

"What?!" he blurts, on the verge of hysteria as England pushes away from him gently.

"She...needed me so she could speak," England pants as he wipes his brow with the back of his hand, drawing a deep breath.

"What?" America demands, edging ever closer into a complete meltdown, "WHAT?"

"She needed my magic to speak a language we can understand," England explains tiredly, looking up at her with an expression America can't read, "She hasn't spoken in millions of years,"

"Millions?" America blurts incredulously as he looked between the strange woman and England a few times, "Arthur, who the HELL is this?" he demands.

"...Antarctica," she says quietly, nodding once in a sort of bow.

America feels his jaw fall open. Impossible. She wasn't real. She was something England made up in one of the bedtime stories he would read him as a child, one of the powers who had formed the world and would-

"No," he blurts as he looks down at England in horror. His panic only intensifies as England nods slowly at him in acknowledgement.

"Hello?" a small voice asks, "America, are you there?"

America shakily reaches into his pocket and places his phone to his ear with a quivering hand.

"Y-yeah, I'm here," America says unsteadily.

"Norway says there was some kind of magical disturbance earlier, knocked him and England right off their feet. England is probably worse, with his magic and all...are you all right?" Canada adds, unnerved by his brother's unusual silence.

"Yeah..." America breathes, reeling.

"So...it's got to be related to some kind of magic, if England isn't well," Canada concludes.

"Yeah," America agrees half-heartedly as Antarctica's eyes lock onto his, "I...I know,"

* * *

The nations are assembled in front of her, cowering in their seats and trying to put up a brave front. She smiles; she knows better.

Her eyes slowly roam around the table, taking in frightened face after frightened face as the nations watch her cautiously. The silence is palpable, running between them and her as she stands in the front of the room before them. Her smile grows as one of them squeaks and attempts to duck underneath the table, his wide amber eyes surveying her with dread.

She closes her eyes, the pulse of the World Clock thrumming in her ears, her very bones. It is ticking slightly faster, now, a persistent metronome reminding her of her purpose. She waits until the room is silent around her and opens her eyes, looking over the group and drawing breath.

"I am Antarctica," she states plainly, watching the nations pale, "I have been summoned by the World Clock. The end of the world is at hand,"

Silence.

"My sister Arctic will be joining us shortly. When she arrives, the World Clock will begin the countdown to the final moment," she continues mechanically, frowning at one of the nations as he glares at her. She glares back; he shrinks back into his seat like a frightened child.

"The...final moment?" one of them pries, folding his quivering hands in front of him, "What do you mean?"

She looks at him for an instant, watching his pale blue eyes tighten as he sets his jaw. A born leader, this one. A pity that he would not use those skills for much longer.

"This world is governed by the World Clock," she explains patiently, silently cursing Arctic for being the last to awaken. Now she would have to do all of the explaining.

"Every event, every human life shapes and molds it and moves the Clock forward," she explains with a wave of her hand, "The rise and fall of nations, the birth of a child, inventions, triumphs, innovations, wars-all of these things are integrated into the life of the world. But, like all things, the world has a finite lifespan. When the World Clock stops ticking, the world...stops with it,"

"Wait, the world is ending?!" one of them cries, verging on hysteria; the one from earlier who had tried to hide from her. Were it not for the severity of the situation, she would have thought it adorable.

"Don't act so surprised," she says flatly as she folds her arms over her chest, "You nations are the ones who sped the Clock up. Now it's into the final stages,"

"What...what did _we_ do?" one of them pries. The man from earlier, who was with the magic-wielder. His bright blue eyes were filled with fear.

She pauses before responding, looking over the frightened group and sighing. Nations. They would simply never understand.

"You have sped up the Clock with your wars," she spat, barely able to hide her disgust, "Your obsession with conquering and killing one another has spiraled us all into the final stages of the world," she pauses again, recalling with a pang of sadness the etches and scars on the cogs and intricate wheels of the World Clock, deep gashes in the crystalline machinery left behind by reckless nations and their equally reckless humans.

"You've polluted the world, desecrated it," she continues coldly, gesturing toward the table they were seated at, "And now, the world has had all it can take. You have brought the world to the brink of destruction, and the heart of the World Clock is beating its last,"

"No!" another one of them cried, shaking his head fervently, "That can't be true,"

"It _is_ true, Denmark," the magic-wielder sighs tiredly, defeated.

"Arctic lies in wait beneath the ice," she explains as she strides past them and places her cool fingertips onto the door handle. It freezes instantly at her touch, delicate fractals blossoming onto the metal and creeping up onto the lacquered wood of the door.

"When she awakens, you all will be summoned to the World Clock, and we will both help ease your passing," she continues, turning to face them all as she pulls the door open, "I leave you to discuss your fate,"

* * *

America blinks as she disappears, closing the door behind her.

No.

This was INSANE.

He looks around the room, seeking resolution on any face. A plan. Something.

All he sees are a sea of frightened faces, of varying degrees.

"Guys, come on," he says shakily, "We have to think of something,"

He bits his lip, looking down at England anxiously.

England shakes his head slowly, looking down at the table in silence.


End file.
